Pursuit
by mrspencil
Summary: One is being pursued across city wastelands, the other is hoping that he finds him in time. A very, very late (or early ) birthday gift for johnsarmylady. Final chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_a_ / _n: a very belated (or very early) birthday gift for the wonderful johnsarmylady:-)_

 _Sherlock and his friends do not belong to me._

* * *

 **Pursuit part one**

* * *

A dark, damp, unfriendly, graffiti-clad subway;

He stumbled down stairs in the fast-fading light.

Behind him, rang echoing footsteps, much closer;

The crack of percussion, as bullets took flight

And scattered. One shattered the strip light above him;

He flinched as small splinters spun down, skimmed his face

And ducked into shadows, all instincts fear-sharpened.

A locked

And blocked doorway;

A poor hiding place.

~0~

Pressed flat against cold, cracked, glazed tiling, he listened

Intently to boot crunched on glass, whispered voice.

He counted the odds which were stacked up against him;

No exit, no weapon, no mobile, no choice.

Each tension-filled second stretched out as he waited

Whilst all shaded spaces were cautiously scanned.

A dim pool of torchlight glowed eerily stronger;

Now almost upon him.

Game over.

Last stand.

~0~

He tried to untangle events of that evening;

The call he had answered, the trap neatly laid.

Escape then pursuit through the grim city wastelands;

Caught out, caught off guard, and a price to be paid.

A brief exclamation, a rumble of laughter;

As light framed the edge of his crouched silhouette.

He flexed aching muscles, breathed slowly and deeply;

Uncoiled his position.

Defeated?

Not yet...

~0~


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: His flat mate is late home.._.

 _Sherlock and friends do not belong to me._

* * *

 **Pursuit 2**

* * *

A coat snatched in haste from a Baker Street hallway,

.A scarf grabbed, a taxi hailed; no time to lose.

A deepening frustration at doubt and uncertainty;

Hint and conjecture, the slightest of clues.

No response to five texts, since that messaged apology;

"A late running clinic, an urgent house call."

Hours passed, a quick check; though the patient was registered,

He had not requested

A visit

At all.

~0~

If willpower alone could ungridlock the city,

He'd have reached the address many minutes ago;

Instead, inch by inch, as they crawl through the traffic,

Irritation conceals apprehension. Too slow.

Two streets from his target, impatience wins over;

And he's out of the cab at a fast running pace.

He arrives at a car park beneath the apartment;

A lonely,

And dimly lit,

Desolate space.

~0~

Rapid scan; doctor's car, door unlocked, boot left open,

A bag missing, scratched paintwork, a smashed mobile phone.

Scuffled ground, several tracks; prints of feet moving swiftly...

Calls Lestrade; not a case to work out on his own.

Trail leads out, down a path, to a bleak urban wasteland...

To and fro...then a ditch where one hid, out of sight,

Then moved on, keeping low; zigzag line to a subway.

Muffled shots...

Heart speeds up...

Scarf-clad throat

Closes tight...

~0~


	3. Chapter 3

_a/n: Meanwhile, back in the subway..._

* * *

 **Pursuit 3**

* * *

Uncurling, and turning to face his tormentors,

He stands, one hand shielding harsh light from his eyes.

A laugh stripped of humour, sharp words laced with menace,

He nods in submission, his action belies

His next sudden movement; a rain of glass splinters

Thrown hard at pale faces, torch kicked, down and...out!

He rolls swiftly sideways, regains his sure footing,

And runs,

Now back tracking;

Few choices,

No doubt.

~0~

The heat of a bullet burns past him, he traces

A path through the subway; eccentric, askew.

Bursts out onto wasteland, ducks down, still zig-zagging;

His foe close behind him, his strength nearly through.

The rust-wrecked remains of old cars, long abandoned,

Serve briefly as cover, obscuring his trail.

More shots whine around him, too near, now, for comfort;

And far

In the distance,

He hears

Sirens wail.

~0~

He will soon be discovered; avoiding detection

Can last only moments, a few seconds more.

He stumbles on rubble-strewn, weed-tangled concrete;

No last minute options to even the score.

A call distracts both the pursued and pursuers.

That voice! He's aware of the warm hopeful thrill

Of relieved recognition; he turns, senses straining;

A loud gunshot

Echoes.

He falls

And is still.

~0~


	4. Chapter 4

_a/n: Meanwhile, out on the wasteland..._

* * *

 **Pursuit 4**

* * *

Relief, on observing his friend's reappearance

Is tempered as several more figures are seen.

He shouts, an attempt to create a diversion.

Three hunters, one prey; not much space in between.

He's barely aware of tyres squealing, doors slamming,

Attention is fixed on one person, alone.

He reels at the shock and the sound of a gunshot;

The fate of the doctor,

Unseen

And unknown.

~0~

Something like panic is wilfully edging

Out finely honed logic, his rational brain

Is pitched against heart-deep reaction, unbidden

Emotions, despite his best effort, remain.

Around him a chaos of headlights and sirens

As armed, Kevlar vested, policemen appear.

Quite heedless of calls to step back out of danger,

He's sprinting,

Coat flying;

His goal

Crystal clear.

~0~

Steel girders, coiled cables and skin-shredding fragments

Of metal; torn, twisted, and lying in wait,

Can't halt his determined, unwavering progress,

Spurred on by the thought that he might be too late.

It takes far too long to achieve his objective,

He searches; then time, sense and reasoning stop.

He's found him; unmoving, dark-stained in deep shadows.

His mask

And all pointless pretences

Just

Drop.

~0


	5. Chapter 5

a/ _n: johnsarmylady requested a fic with a pursuit and a "worth a wound, worth many wounds" moment. Final chapter._

* * *

 **Pursuit 5**

* * *

"John...?", part enquiry, part plea, softly whispered,

Whilst rapidly checking for heartbeat or breath.

He blinks as light plays on his long frantic fingers;

Lestrade, torch held steady, and silent as death.

A flicker of movement, a sharp exhalation;

A disgruntled physician defying the odds.

A flesh wound, none deeper; a joyful detective,

Ecstatically

Thanking

Benevolent

Gods.

~0~

Eased up to a sitting position, expletives

Expressing his view of the evening's events.

The track of a bullet cleaned up and well padded;

Bewilderment over his captors' intents.

A steadying hand, as he leaves the stark landscape,

A trip in an ambulance briskly declined.

A simple desire to retreat and head homeward;

Tea,

Mrs Hudson,

His chair,

On his mind.

~0~

A silent black car draws up smoothly beside them;

Eyes roll at the sibling surveillance implied.

Then home through the darkening streets of the city;

All drama is over, cocooned safe inside.

Cool words from his Belstaff-clad back seat companion;

The air of one merely completing a task.

John grins, leaning back on the fine leather cushions;

Sherlock knows

That _he_ knows

What lies

Under

That mask.

~0


End file.
